


To Challenge a God

by CoyoteStarrksAss



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Achilles does not know who Persephone is here, Anger, Angry Achilles, Everybody gets a mention, Hypnos is at his post like always, Indifferent (though quietly concerned) Hades, Inspired By Tumblr, Inspired by Fanart, Mama Nyx, Meg's in the Lounge probs, Patroclus may or may not be mentioned, Stabbing occurs, Tartarus as a deity, Thanatos is... idk, Young Zagreus, all in all things are Here :D, also Morpheus is alluded to as a god owo, also the title will have one meaning at first and then change by the end of the fic, and Gaea, as is Erebus, but this mainly centers on Achilles Zag and Nyx, many more ppl have shown up, not a big one ! but it is there, oh fuck and Chaos oh god oh fuck, or slashing, probs slashing, so he thinks Nyx is Zag's mom, this also isnt meant to be a ship fic mention it and i skewer u with Varatha, this causes a small problem :), u will get it when u read i think :0, unsure yet as I've been writin tags before the actual fic here lately, which is also here btw, woohoo i added more to this, zag gets some scenes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:07:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27363226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoyoteStarrksAss/pseuds/CoyoteStarrksAss
Summary: Achilles is an angry, angry soul. He's angry at a lot of people, the prime ones being the gods and himself.He (wrongly) takes this anger out on a young god he's been charged with teaching.What has he done, oh gods-(Chapters 2 and 3 are the only two chapters that coincide with each other. Chapter 1 is a separate, but not entirely unrelated, chapter and idea and is the only one based off the fanart credited from start to finish.)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 220





	1. Ever-Changing Emotions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost I wanna say this was inspired by @snowylychee on tumblr / twitter (same username) !! A very specific part of dialogue comes directly from the piece he did, so go and give that a look-see if ya can !! You'll know it, i promise, all I did was expand and change v small things
> 
> In any case, other than that, i dont rlly have much to say !

He’s angry.

Blinding, blindingly angry. 

There’s red in his vision. Is it his blood? The blood of his mortal enemies? He doesn’t know anymore.

He’s so angry, things go dark. He’s a spectre, a Shade, moving around blind. He’s angry even in death. 

How can he not be? He’s lost it all. Lost everything. His anger, his blinding anger, made him lose everything.

It’s not just his fault, though, is it? It can’t be; he’s a product of his emotions, as any man, but he’s no ordinary man.

He’s the son of a nereid. Thetis, was her name. His mother, that woman, a child of the gods—

—making him a legacy to those gods. Those gods that had ruined everything. Those gods that had cost him everything. Cost him his youth, his life, his love… 

Oh, how he had lost his love. His life. His _Patroclus_. 

He’s angry—

—and he’s heartbroken.

_Those gods._

He made a deal with one of those gods, when he came down to this place. The Underworld. The place he had so vaingloriously escaped and avoided all his life. The place in which he had been made vulnerable to, as much as any mortal possibly can be, and had led him to this spot. 

_I would like to challenge a god._

He wants to challenge them all, really. But he has a fair few to choose from here; Hades, Master of the realm, is one. Nyx, the goddess of night, was another. Hypnos, who always was slumbering in the hall--which truthfully angered him to no end, for how _dare_ any of these gods be so relaxed and at peace when the world they had said they would watch over was everything but--god of sleep. Thanatos, brother of Sleep Incarnate, Death itself, would come around every so often, so he was a choice all the same. 

_I would like to challenge a god…_

As it stands, he cannot challenge any of these gods. They are older than him, older in ways he can’t yet hope to understand, and he will throw everything away for his dead love if he tries to challenge them. Hades especially he cannot challenge, for that will simply thrust him and Patroclus further apart than they already are. It was his request, but all the same, he cannot risk Patroclus not staying in Elysium. It’s all he can do… All that he can promise his love. An afterlife, eternal as the realm, in glory, in relative peace… 

…in painful loneliness.

(He chooses not to dwell on that part.)

_…in spite of the ones who’ve led our fates like this._

There is still yet one god he has not thought of. As much as, deep inside of him, he knows it will be wrong, his anger wins out each time. The boy—the god—is just that— _a god._

And as such, he will be _treated_ as a god.

_Gods don’t die. He won’t feel a thing. It won’t affect him at all._

_Not like **they** have affected **me**._

The Lord Master Hades had one heir; one son, one young god, Zagreus. With eyes mismatched red and green, a crown of laurels— _undeserving_ —atop his night-black hair, and bare feet licked by flames as his father’s. He has always looked up to the Shade, for one reason or another. He had come just after the boy’s birth, circumstances of which had been very complicated, and had witnessed him be brought back to life by his mother, Nyx. He is the only one he can see clearly, can see through the anger--and it’s angering.

_How dare they bring him back. Disobeying their own laws, these gods! How dare they!_

_You should suffer. All of you, should suffer and lay in suffering and experience suffering._

Zagreus is about the age of a normal, mortal, young man; fifteen in looks. Who can know how many years or centuries in truth, given that time moves in such an odd way in death. He knows that that must be, in part, why the god looks to him. As he is older, in a mortal sense, and has stories told of him, stories told _to_ him about him. 

He’s not shocked when they, the older gods of the House, ask for him to train Zagreus. 

He’s just angry.

_To ignore the feelings of your subjects, of those you perceive under you—_

_—oh, that is **so** like you gods._

Zagreus is nothing but eager. That is all he has going for him, he thinks. He has no prior combat training, no knowledge of what to do in battle besides what he has read in books and what has been told to him. That, and his pride, his cockiness.

His arrogance. That familiar arrogance that all gods, that all beings who believe themselves to know that they are immortal, have.

_You make me so **angry** , little god._

There’s a step off the rhythm he has made, has Zagreus slipping up on the cobblestone of the courtyard of the House of Hades—

— _You cannot die. Not like I, not like my love. You feel no pain as I do. How dare you take such pride in that knowledge?_ —

—“ _Wrong step_.” He tells the Prince of the Underworld coldly, a tone he had carefully avoided letting the god hear before, and there is only a quick second in which Zagreus looks up, confused, before he takes his spear, his Varatha, and slashes up. Across the young god’s chest, making sure there is all the strength he can give in the force.

_But does a god bleed?_

He knows he has made a tremendous mistake when red blood, very much like the red blood he had spilled when he had been living, follows the strike, and erupts from the wound faster than either of them can even make sense. He takes a step back, horrified, as the Prince does as well, too shocked to let go of his sword. Gingerly, he raises a hand to the broken skin, wobbling on his feet.

_Does a god die?!_

“Zagreus…” He murmurs, eyes wide in shock. His not-beating heart drops to his stomach, and there is fear in his eyes just as there is in the young god’s. 

No… In the young _boy’s_.

“ _Zagreus_!” He cries, dropping his spear and rushing to grab the boy as he begins to fall. 

“ _Achilles_ —?” Is all that comes from the boy’s mouth before he is silent. Limp, in the old warrior’s arms. 

“No, _no_ , lad, stay with me—” Achilles pleads, but he can do nothing but fall to his knees, the Prince coming with him, as he places his own hand—shaking, heavy, bloodied hand—over the wound he made on him. The _gash_ he made on the poor, undeserving, unknowing god-boy.

The Prince is not moving in his arms. Achilles knows he should not be dead, Zagreus _cannot_ be dead, and yet—

—Achilles has seen that look. The lightless eyes, the faraway gaze. He had brought it to many, had brought it upon the Prince.

His death had been quick. 

But it had been _death_.

“ _Help me_!” Achilles cries out, but for some reason, it’s as if no one can hear him. Of _all_ the gods-forsaken times—!

“ _Someone **help me**_!” He cries again, anguished. He’s holding Zagreus’ lifeless body tight to his chest, so tight that it could kill a man. There’s even tears falling from his eyes, those eyes so blinded by anger.

He’s not blind now. He can see the severity of the wound, the blood gushing from it, so taking with it the Prince's life. The life now on Achilles' hands, the life of a young boy on his soul once more.

_How had he died?! How **could** he die?! He is a **god**!_

Oh, how **cruel** those gods were. They had planned this—they could not yet let Achilles rest, not without suffering. They had planned for the dead warrior to kill someone much like their own, had made it his Fate from the start. 

“ _Patroclus_!” He screams, throat hoarse, now calling out any name that may garner attention, even if only out of curiousity. Where _was_ everyone?

“ _Please, just— **help me**_!”

He isn’t angry any longer, he can’t be—if he lets his anger simmer, lets it sit, won’t someone else, some other poor Shade, be the victim of him? If he keeps growing angrier, won’t he bring the very Underworld underfoot?

_Is that not the very same arrogant thought that made him die in the first place?_

“ ** _OLYMPUS_**!”

* * *

Achilles is so startled by his own voice, he nearly hits his head against his spear, flailing about for a frantic, desperate moment before he realizes—he’s not in the courtyard. How is that—?

 ** _Zagreus!_** Is the first thought in his mind, and he stumbles to right himself, forgetting everything but the poor boy he had wrongfully executed. He has to know what’s become of him, what’s befalled poor young Zagreus—

He nearly falls over his own cloak, but Achilles runs to the middle of the House, to where the building opens up to encompass and allow in the souls coming in from the River Styx, lead here by Charon or Hermes or Thanatos. The blood-red water hasn't been disturbed, though, and as he makes his way to the edge, other Shades move out of his way. He scans the water, looking for any possible sign of the Prince, before he realizes there’s someone talking near him. 

“—looking for?”

“What?” He asks breathlessly, looking around before he realizes he’s face to face with Mother Night, with Nyx. The gorgeous goddess is calm and serene as ever, her presence as encompassing as it ever has been, but she has an odd look—of worry?—in her eyes as she again speaks.

“What is it that you are looking for, great Achilles?” She asks him, her voice echoing just that tiny bit. She is a goddess of a vast realm, a vast power, and it reflects. “You appear disturbed. Has something caused you distress?”

“Do find out whatever it is you’re looking for with haste, _Shade_.” Comes a voice from the other end of the hall, causing Achilles and Nyx to look back to Hades, who was glancing over his large desk and large stack of paperwork to look at them both. 

“I don’t like disturbances in my halls. Find what you’re looking for and get back to your post.” Was the final word on it from the Master, but his gaze lingered until Achilles looked away, panting, and back to the River. He couldn’t breathe, it felt like, and while he no longer had to, it was still an unpleasant feeling.

“Speak to me, Achilles.” Nyx pressed on, floating closer to him. She and her sons Thanatos and Hypnos shared that habit of floating instead of standing. 

“You cannot be helped if you do not speak.”

 _You’re one of the last ones I wish to speak to._ He thinks, though he does not think this with the same level of malice as he would have normally. 

“Th-The Prince—Where is—?” He tries to ask, but as he looks back at Mother Night, he stops himself. Her expression has become taught, as if he had said something unpleasant. He realizes that he’s being watched, out of the corner of his eye, that Hypnos is at his post, looking on to the two of them with worry evident on his face, though it is more for Achilles’ sake now that he senses his mother’s anger. With a start, he realizes quickly—Hypnos is god of sleep, his son Morpheus god of dreams. Achilles had awoken in the far hall of the House, not the courtyard, like he had thought himself in. Achilles had _fallen asleep_ at his own post. He had _dreamt_ the situation with Zagreus, thank the gods. And as the two realms were intertwined, and as Hypnos was close to Morpheus, in regular contact with the other god, it should have been no surprise that he knew what Achilles had dreamed of. Perhaps Morpheus had even _knowingly_ given him such a dream, had told Hypnos of such an act. 

The thought, oddly, does not make his chest white-hot. He is angry, yes, but not as much as he could be. 

(He can only wonder this briefly if his dream startled him so much, in such a sudden way, that his own mind is no longer allowing him to grow to such angry heights.)

“Zagreus is within the walls of this House,” she says carefully, as if she is trying her best to control her instincts. With another start, Achilles remembers that this is Zagreus’ _mother_ , Hypnos is his _brother_ , and Hypnos converses with his mother _constantly_ when he is distressed. 

In some way, possibly not of his own doing or want, Hypnos had discovered that Achilles had dreamt of killing Zagreus. In the wake of it, it had bothered him enough to tell Nyx of it. At that same time, Achilles had woken up, too late to either stop him or explain himself to the goddess.

He realizes that he is very lucky neither of them have sent him into the lowest depths of their realm, Tartarus, as of yet.

“He is relaxing in the lounge, as he often does.” She continued on, moving away from Achilles now. There is a hard set to her jaw, but if Mother Night is anything, she is a willing listener. “Pray, why do you need him, child?”

_Praying is, also, one of the last things I want to do to you._

“I… I was under the impression he was hurt. Hurt enough to… To have come through here.” He admitted with guilt, not meeting the goddess’ eyes. He felt nothing but shame, his chest heavy with the feeling. 

“It… It was my fault, I thought. I am… Sorry, Mother Night, for disrupting the peace of this House. I know you keep up with it as much as Lord Hades.”

Things were silent for a moment, the only sounds coming occasionally from Hades calling forth the Shades that had moved to the walls and the lounge itself, on the other side of the wall behind Nyx. Even Hypnos dare not make a sound, instead writing very attentively on his ledger—perhaps even doodling, as he had often tried to show Achilles. Anyone who happened to come past him whilst he was awake, even. 

Mother Night’s hands, warm in their metaphorical touch only, came to Achilles shoulders. As he looked at her, he realized her expression had cleared some. 

“It was but a dream, great Achilles.” She told him, all the warmth in her voice as any mother would give. _True to her title,_ he’s glad to think. “A terrible dream. You have nothing to fear.”

“Yes, I… I see that.”

She gave him the briefest of smiles, removing her hands. He was equally relieved and saddened by the action.

“Mother Night, I am still—” He found himself trying to say, wanting to still apologize to the goddess out of guilt for what he had done in his dream, but she held up a hand, all the order he needed to fall silent. Both due to experience in his mortal life and his undead one.

“Your dream, in this case, is nothing more, Achilles,” she told him, “which I believe you will find as a relief. After all, Zagreus’ training under you _starts_ today.”

Achilles almost flinched with how suddenly he realized that she was correct—it must have been on his mind. Had this truly not been work of Morpheus, but of his own mind? How could he be sure? Was this some sort of test on its own by the gods? 

“I should think,” she continued on, her eyes beginning to crease, as it did when she was controlling herself; for his sake, Achilles realized. He didn’t understand. “That you would not aim to reenact this dream with him. Not with the reaction you so had. Or do I misunderstand?”

He was almost too overwhelmed to answer, the warrior’s words stuck in his throat, but he eventually managed to shake his head, his hold on his spear—the one he had struck Zagreus with in his dream, he thinks distantly with disgust—tightening.

“Absolutely not, Mother Night. You understand… Better than I, I would say.” He told her, and the goddess’ expression finally cleared once more partially.

“As I thought.” She agreed with a nod, spreading her hands. “Though, in light of this incident, I feel the need to say, great Achilles, as you are bound by your own hand to this House—”

 _I’m in for it._ Achilles thought, almost making to brace himself, but he thought better of it; to brace one’s self in front of a god such as her would be seen equivalent to a challenge, and that was exactly what had brought him—the thought of a challenge towards a god. Mother Night was _not_ a goddess the Shade could ever _hope_ to come close in power to.

“—that should anything come to harm Zagreus due to your hand, in a way that is _not_ complacent with your training him,” she went on, eyes harder than the jewel hanging on her chest; no skull could hope to have as dark a look as she did in that moment, “I want you to rest assured that there will be _no god_ , _no being_ in existence that will hide you from _me_. My wrath will be all that you fear, I shall make sure of such. Am I understood?”

There was no pride. No bravado, no arrogance. There’s hardly even detail to the threat, though she needs only to be simplistic to get her point across. The goddess was utterly, truthfully sure of her abilities, of her _own self_. As Achilles had once been, as he had seen many others be.

But none of those he knew compared to a chthonic goddess like Mother Night. Born of Chaos at the dawn of time alongside Erebus, Darkness, Tartarus, god of the realm they resided himself, and Gaea, the Mother of the Earth, she was more primordial than any of them within this House. If anyone wanted to be technical, _she_ was the Master here, Hades only current Lord of this realm because she _allowed_ it to be when her daughters the Fates bade it so.

Achilles is sobered by the thought. And deeply, utterly, _frightened_.

But more than he is either of these things, he is determined--for he has just heard Zagreus’ voice, and he knows, then, that he has to see the boy. To surely settle his nerves, and apologize to him for what he has not done, but deeply, unrightfully wanted to.

He meets her eyes with a fire he hasn’t felt since he heard of Patroclus’ death.

“We are understood, Nyx.” He addresses her. “Though, please, know that I will not, in light of this, _ever_ aim my weapon at Zagreus in such a way.”

He wants to say _again_ , but he can’t, for he had not done it even once. His words, however, are enough for the goddess, as her expression now softens completely, worries for her youngest son now laid to rest. She seems to have faith in Achilles; he’s tempted to ask why.

“Your anger for the Olympians--for the gods--is of no concern to me, great Achilles,” she says as if reading his mind, a tad of amusement in her voice. He supposes she is owed some; a child of a nereid is powerful indeed in comparison to a regular mortal, but to a god, there is little to fear in his threats. 

“In many ways, I understand your contempt.” She went on, now moving away, out of Achilles’ path. “Do not forget, I am one who once held great contempt for those on high, as well. 

“Do not aim such contempt, however, at those of us who cannot—and do not—understand.” 

With that, she turned her back on Achilles, instead turning to gently wake Hypnos, who had dozed off once more. He nearly hesitated to move, but his spectral body made the decision to move for him, taking him to his right to meet up with the Prince in the lounge.

The gods were merciful, or perhaps merci _less_ , in that Zagreus was crossing the doorway of the lounge and heading to his room, though as he spotted Achilles, his face broke into a grin, coming up to the Shade with barely contained excitement.

“Hey, there, Achilles, sir!” The Prince greeted him, raising his hand in waving. “I’m ready for—”

Achilles did not give him the chance to finish, as he gathered the boy in a hug, embracing him so tightly that several joints of his popped. It effectively knocked the breath out of the Prince’s lungs, but he chuckled instead of growing angry. Overall, he was confused by the Shade’s actions.

“I don’t know what brought this on, mate, but I’m not against it.” Zagreus told him, none-the-wiser to anything the Shade could be thinking, as he brought his own arms around Achilles, hugging him back with equal force. If Achilles were living, it might have hurt more. 

“Something on your mind, though, sir?” He asked, concern apparent in his voice. Achilles moved back a bit, looking at the young god-boy straight on. Under the warrior’s calloused, war-worn hands, Zagreus’ skin, his arms, were soft and level, unmarred by the scars Achilles had gained by his age. He was a lean young man, but not the muscular soldier any of the young men Achilles had known, and even unlike the forms the young gods like himself took on.

It was comforting. It gave him some humanity, in Achilles’ eyes. It gave him hope for the young Prince.

“No, lad.” He finally replied, ignoring how it only caused Zagreus to grow more confused. He finally let him go, moving back a bit. He made sure Varatha did not come near to touching him, the blood that had accumulated on the blade of the spear still able to be seen in his mind's eye. He didn’t even want to use the spear to train, instead making a mental note to lock it up within the armory and to take on a different spear. 

“I simply needed a hug, was all. I’m glad to see you in good spirits.” Achilles told him, surprising himself by sounding truthful. Emotional, even, to himself. He was not known for being a man of many emotions.

“Can’t see why I wouldn’t be,” Zagreus smiled up at him, hands on his hips. “I start training with you sometime today… Or, tonight, whichever it may be. And I haven’t fought with Father yet over some menial thing; Cerberus and I even got to play around before he went to guard the Temple. Overall, I don’t have any reason to _not_ be in good spirits.”

Such a positive outlook he had on this drab and dreary realm, the young Prince had. More than Achilles had, more than he may _ever_ have, in trying to make the best with what was around him. Such a different kind of mindset, a different type of thought had…

Achilles had been wrong to ever think of Zagreus like the gods on Olympus. Like the gods in _general_. It made him feel all the more shameful for what he had dreamt of, but he couldn’t bring himself to dwell on a made-up event. Now that he could see Zagreus, well and fine, and was determined to not harm the young boy, he knew he could avoid the outcome of that dream, for now. So long as they trained, Zagreus would _not_ die at the end of Achilles’ blade.

The warrior would rather die _again_ than have Zagreus ever experience that.

“I see, lad. Very well, then; let’s get on to the courtyard then, shall we?”

The Prince, much like a young toddler, bounced on his flaming heels for a moment, seemingly having not expected this to be told to him at the moment (had he not said he was ready? _What an odd young fellow_ , Achilles thought almost endearingly).

“Right, right _now_ , sir?” He asked almost breathlessly, his body already turning towards his room, where the courtyard laid beyond. The once-mortal Shade had to laugh.

“Yes, lad, right now,” he agreed, beginning to lead the way.

“After all, there’s much for you to learn, and I’m eager to challenge a god. Give it your all, as I don’t intend to treat you any differently than those I taught while living.”

—Achilles knew he couldn't let the boy know he had dreamt of harming him, so it was best for him to act as he believed the boy to think was normal. He had also intended to leave it at that, this conversation, but as he heard Zagreus chuckle, he had to look back. Even though he had heard the chuckle, he was quite shocked to find that the Prince looked… Happy.

“I’m always up for a challenge, sir,” he said with promise, meeting Achilles eyes. There was fire in this boy, not just evident by the flames that lit his feet but in simply _looking_ at him.

“So trust me; I accept your challenge wholeheartedly. I won’t hold anything back.”

Achilles hesitated. He was at the threshold of the boy’s room, the hand not on his spear on the wall. 

_That cockiness all you gods have—_

Achilles smiled at him.

_—it is not so aggravating coming from you._

_You fear no death, yet not because you’re foolish to believe yourself above it._

_There is no way you can, after all, when you were brought back from it some time ago._

“I shan’t hold back myself, lad.”

_I would like to challenge a god—_

_—but not out of spite, not to the death. Not when that god is you, Zagreus._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this piece was inspired by @snowylychee on both twitter AND tumblr, so pls go and look at his art and rb / rt the particular piece this comes from !!
> 
> As always, YAY, the end !! :D !!! Pls leave a like and comment if ya enjoyed; you should always leave smth to let ur fave creators know that ur consuming the things they put out !!! It ensures we keep on creatin, and gives us courage to do so !!


	2. Returned-to Emotions and Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if Achilles had actually gotten angry with Zagreus for telling Patroclus about their ashes being buried together?
> 
> What if Zagreus had to deal with his mentor being angry with him even though he just wanted him and his partner to see each other again?
> 
> What if—and maybe this is going out there—there were consequences to actions?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (that last line there is entirely a joke i just wanted another line of text)
> 
> This chapter is not entirely unrelated to the first, as I allude to it quite a bit, but it's not a continuation of the previous ! This takes place far after it (and before the "end" jic anyone wants that info). It's just angry Achilles, so I figured why not put it here. I was also just way too lazy to make a whole new fuckin uhhhhhh new fic thing. that probs wont make sense but it's the truth so  
> It's rlly sorta,, sad ? Bc yanno, Achilles is angry at Zag and there's lots of emotions running around w/them both ? So. Take that as ya will, ig :p
> 
> also yes this was only gonna get the second chap but it is once again late as fuck o'clock and I can only stare at a computer after doin hw and a test for so long. so chap 3 will be patch up crap and also include characters I added in briefly here more :V
> 
> also also yes this has changing povs. only between zag and achilles tho
> 
> final also but yea there's some direct quotes from the game but they get changed a bit so

Achilles can’t tell how long he’s been hacking away at the denizens of Tartarus. A job best left for the Lord of the Underworld’s, Hades’, son, Zagreus, considering it was his own, but at the moment, that very son was who had led the long-dead warrior to this state.

This… _State_ , if he could call it such; this state of perpetual anger, as blinding as the anger that had consumed him when his love, his life, his _Patroclus_ , had been taken from his grasp. As red-hot and all-consuming as the anger that had followed him into death, had made him so angry with the Lord’s young son the Prince to begin with, gods only know how many moons ago that was.

He’d vowed to himself, Achilles had. To not grow that angry, that foolish, with anyone again, and especially not the young Prince, whom he saw as close to himself as a son. He’d trained—no easy feat of itself—and taught him much, not just in weapons but in life and of mortals and morals. He had only been asked of the weapons, and yet he had taken it further than that—dare he say, he, Achilles, had raised that boy Zagreus. That young god, that god-Prince, that son of the Underworld in whom should not have been alive. Brought back in a way that was frowned upon, but had been done anyway by the very goddess and mother of the ones who had preordained his death moons before he was born.

So perhaps that is why, he thinks, in the part of his mind that is still rational, he grew so angry with him.

Zagreus hadn’t done anything particularly wrong; in fact, not wrong at all. Just… _Angering_.

(Achilles had heard, once, on break in the lounge, from the god Thanatos that Zagreus had a penchant for inserting himself into affairs not of his own business. Having been speaking to the Erinye Megaera, whom had noticed the warrior looking on and gestured him over for the discussion, she had answered him in agreement, having seen such behaviour from the Prince herself. At the time, Achilles had had no true opinion on that matter—“What the lad will do is entirely of his own choices, I’m of no position to tell him anything on the matter”—and even still he had none, but to have that behaviour turned to _his_ affairs—

Oh, that was _something_ , wasn’t it?)

It had started so innocently: Achilles had asked a simple question, made a simple clarifying statement. “ _How is he, anyway, if you’ve encountered him of late on your journeys, lad? The fallen warrior you’ve run into in Elysium, that is_.”

The answer true, of no ill intent and meaning nothing of disrespect. “ _He’s doing relatively well, I think. There’s a lot you’ve told me… That he didn’t know. About what led up to his present circumstances, and your own_.”

Achilles didn’t hesitate, as his anger had not. Had shot through him like a heated spike, as quick as the messenger god Hermes was on his own two feet. All he could do was try and control his voice level, keep from yelling so suddenly at the young Prince as his lord-father was so wont to do.

(For even as angry as he was, as he _is_ , Achilles would _never_ allow himself to frighten Zagreus like that.)

“ _You told him, then. Without requesting my consent to tell him, first!_ ” He had snapped, though his controlled level at which it was did not keep from several Shades milling about looking to the pair. In no years had Achilles ever raised his voice with the Prince, not even so long ago when it had been consuming. “ _What, exactly, did you say to him?_ ”

A part of his long-still heart had ached as he saw Zagreus’ face change from empathetic melancholy to confusion, then to extreme guilt and regret. All in a flash, but it was as if it had been through molasses to the warrior. “ _Achilles, I… I’m sorry, I… I just told him about your ashes being intermingled, that whole thing? And about the pact, I swear it. You told me once to send him your love, a-and your regards! This brought him no joy, only questions! You told me not to speak to Father, not to him!_ ”

There was a small note, almost unnoticeable, of desperation, there in his voice—a desperation often only sought out by one with a parent whom they know won’t bring them compassion but still seeks it. It had never been a voice he had used with Achilles, had never had to, and yet his voice took it on immediately all the same. In a way, that had been only more infuriating, though at the moment, it was unfortunately not the time to bring about more rage. It all mingled together, only felt for one thing—the intrusion on his greatest choice, great in regret and love and a need to know his love after death was settled and taken care of even if he was not. It was not just a disrespect to Achilles; it was to _Patroclus_.

Achilles could not have that.

“ _Still yet, you thought of not only doing so without my consent, but with the assumption that what could go unsaid to your father could be said to other ears! I… Go. Away from me, Zagreus. I am not…_ ”

The warrior was unsure of what he was not even still, as his weapon connected with a brimstone, but at the time, he had simply taken a deep breath as he tightened his grip on his spear and moved away from the Prince, knowing just how severe it was to speak his name so casually when he had only spoken to him affectionately for so long, but at the moment, he hadn’t cared. It would have been dangerous to, both on his end and Zagreus’.

“ _Achilles, sir, I, I’m so—!_ ” He had attempted to rectify the situation, had attempted to reach out and grab the warrior’s arm or cloak, but Achilles’ arm had moved on its own, had shaken his grip away. Never a smack, but it may as well have been, he knows the Prince probably backed away as if it had. Instead of turning to check, Achilles had simply summoned what little power in the Underworld he had, and had used it to summon himself—away. Away was all he could get, away from the House of the Lord and away from the Prince and away from… Everyone. Everyone he had come to learn to care for and respect, as they had done, in their own ways, with him when he arrived. Even before he had settled and calmed, before he had decided to change. For his Pat, for himself, for Zagreus…

Unfortunately, he was unable to get away from Tartarus. As such, he had found himself in one of its many chambers, the enemies set up to try and stop the wayward Prince turning to him almost in confusion (capable of little more besides such and anger). Of course, that, too, only served to anger him. To think of Zagreus, to think of what had been said, to think of Pat, to think of Hades and his treatment of his only son, of the treatment that son received from so many others who were supposed to—at the _least_!—respect him yet were too afraid of his Lord-Father to do so—

Oh, it all angered him so _s_ _everely_.  
So, with a grit of his teeth, a stance he hadn’t taken since his final day, and a growl—“ _If you’re eager to meet with rage embodied, then I’ll meet you on this battlefield_ ”—he had taken to fighting his emotions away.

(Ares was, on Olympus, unsure of what to make of this situation—a bloodbath worthy of his notice, for sure, but there was a crisis of how to address it. He was, rather knowingly, not one of the warrior’s favoured gods.

But this situation had been brought about due to a conflict with one of his favoured kin. _Highly_ favoured, as Zagreus was unable to go through so many battles as he has and not become one acknowledged by the god of war. So, with only a moment’s hesitance, the war god pulled himself from his company—he had been entertaining conversation with several of his siblings—and made his way to his own temple, hands fishing for spare drachma. He would appeal to the goddess Iris for this message, not keen on his brother Hermes getting involved.)

* * *

Zagreus hadn’t known what to do with himself once Achilles had teleported himself away—though the urge to run to his room and cry as if he were a child scorned was _immense_ —so he did all he could find it within himself to do, after staring after the warrior for a few beats of the heart; take up one of his weapons, push past those of his family and friends that tried to speak to him, and throw himself into an escape attempt.

It wasn’t the brightest decision, of course—he was in no mood to hear the gods from their boons, who often spoke to him before extending their options of powers to choose from, nor was it ever smart to walk into a battle with tears in the eyes—but he had no clue of what else to do. He wasn’t eager to just lay around and sulk, nor was he eager to have to explain that he had made what was quite possibly the greatest mistake of his life. And most of all, he was _not_ eager to hear about how he, more than likely, was simply overreacting to the situation at hand (which would come from several people, he was sure).

Which, yes, he can agree—maybe it _was_ foolish, to have a reaction such as this when he had been warned about this and how, one day or night, he would bring himself into a situation with the intention to help and would have it bite him in the ass, but the Prince was unable to help it! This wasn’t just the situation of two Shades he happened upon and wanted to assist, nor was it the situation of wanting to bring his mother home! No, this was the situation of _Achilles_ , of kind and strong and admirable _Achilles_ , whom Zagreus had always loved, had always sought advice and attention from, when he could not give or get it from anyone else! This was _Achilles_ , poor, lonely Achilles, whom had always looked so melancholic behind his calm gaze. Zagreus had just wanted to help him! To help him and his long-thought-lost love, Patroclus! He just wanted them together again, wanted to see the two late warriors happy and in the presence of one another—

—but all that had caused was what he had hoped would not. He had known, in a back part of his mind, that telling Achilles he had passed on the details of his death and his contract to Patroclus without the former telling him to do would have the potential to backfire, but he had ignored that part of his mind because he had thought, had _assumed_ , that that potential was very small. He had _hoped_ that that potential was very small. He had hoped—well, he had hoped Achilles would be _glad_ he was attempting this!

And really, he hadn’t thought he was doing wrong! Achilles had only specified that Zag was to not speak to Hades about him and Patroclus! Was there something he had been meant to glean from that, was there an implication he had missed?

_Of course there was; Achilles wouldn’t be angry for no good reason._

Oh… He had messed up, hadn’t he? Was this beyond repair? Would… Would Achilles be willing to speak about this soon, be willing to let Zag apologize and explain himself and…?

He hasn’t made it too far from the House. In fact, he’s not even made it to the first chamber;

he’s crying too hard, and it’s all he can do to take out the few numbskulls that greet him before he leans against the entrance to the chamber, shoulders unable to stop shaking.

Zagreus had long ago promised to himself, when Achilles had first let the Prince lean himself on his slightly translucent shoulder and just c _ry_ about _so many_ things, that he would never disappoint the warrior who had become his mentor. Never disappoint, never anger, never sadden—he had sworn that he wouldn’t allow it, for Achilles didn’t deserve it after everything he had been through and put himself through and _been_ put through. He just would not be able to live with himself, should he ever do so. Even if by mere accident, for he would never do so willingly.

And yet—

—he had done just that. In a matter of a few conversations and disclosing what he should have known better than to disclose.

_Oh, what has been **done**?_

He wipes his eyes, the Underworld Prince, and sets his jaw before he looks up, startled; he’s moved through several chambers. When had that been done?

(He looks behind himself, sees his red blood spattered about in various places. Had his body moved on its own?)

Looking back ahead, he takes one final swipe to his eyes before continuing into the next chamber, his jaw set stubbornly in what he hopes is neutrality, since he has but one choice for this chamber. It is the chamber of his great friends: The former mortal King Sisyphus and his rock-friend Bouldy, bound to Tartarus for crimes innumerable and unspeakable but deeply regretted (Sisyphus is bound, at least, not Bouldy). If Sisyphus saw him crying, he would surely be asked why, and as he had left the House to escape such questions, he was not eager to hear them from his imprisoned friend.

As he entered, Sisyphus went to raise his hand in greeting, but Zagreus noted how his smile did not reach his eyes once the former king looked at him clearly. The smile there was replaced with concern.

But, thank the gods, he did not question.

“Ahoy there, Prince Z.” He greeted Zagreus, tone as cheerful and warm as ever. He did, however, offer his wares immediately, as before he would make idle chat. “What can I offer you today?”

Zagreus wasn’t eager to take anything—had he not already taken from Achilles?—but he murmured a quick response, his gift being placed into his waiting hands without hesitance. He was startled slightly, though, when Sisyphus’ large hands did not move quickly from his own. He dared a glance up at his friend, not wanting to imagine what was seen by those kind and concerned eyes.

“You’re going to be alright, Prince.”

A simple statement. Innocent, short, yet so incredibly detailed. Implications of it laid bare as if they were said.

…He really had missed—had ignored—Achilles’ implications, hadn’t he?

“I can only hope you’re right.”

Sisyphus let him go. Zagreus was tempted to ask for a hug—an embrace was what he so desperately wanted right now, an embrace from someone whom was his friend and cared for and respected him—but thought better of it. Instead, he nodded his thanks, gave Bouldy a weak smile, and made his way to the end of the chamber, hesitating just outside of the one way out to store his gift away before continuing on.

The Erinys chamber. Perhaps his least favourite, as he had been growing close in friendship with Megaera, its most common inhabitant, again, though Zagreus did delight himself in attempting to guess, each time he came through, who would greet him when he made his entrance. Today, he found himself hoping for “Not Meg” only, as Meg had been attempting to get his attention back within the House only to be ignored. He hoped that his ignorance of her was annoying enough for her to be petty, as she often was, and ignore him back.

He got his wish. Unfortunately, he was not met by her sister Tisiphone, Tormentor of Murder, whom Zagreus considered himself friends with (on count of their most recent run-in, when she finally said his full name in lieu of her ever-favoured “ _Murder!_ ” or “ _Murderer!_ ”). Instead, it was Alecto, Tormentor of Passions, the only one of the three Erinyes so filled with hate that loved to be directed towards Zagreus now (as before, Meg had once felt the same, though in patching things up, she was now only going against him in battle by orders).

 _Her anger is, at the least, not personally aimed at me._ He thought. An odd sentiment, but it felt a bit better to know that he wasn’t on her angry-with list for a specific reason.

“ _Ah hah_ _!_ If it isn’t you, red-blood!” She grinned as she spotted him, a smile with all fangs and no ounce of good intentions. “You got here in no time at all, I almost wanna congratulate you! What’s say I do it with a whole lotta spikes being your treat, huh? Make you all nice and pretty full of holes before sending you on back to your dad?”

Zagreus would have normally had some sort of quip to that, some sort of tease—or even disgusted comment, sometimes she got a bit too detailed with some of her “congratulations” as she had so called them—but instead, he raised his weapon and bared his own not-sharp teeth in challenge with a short “Shut up” following it. The action didn’t go unnoticed, and as Alecto snarled, she seemed to catch sight of something that she hadn’t seen before, cocking her head to the side as her grin fell.

“What’s this, red-blood? Your eyes’re looking a little red there, and I don’t mean that one on the right, there—tell me, did someone make the precious little Prince sad?”

Her last question was said with mock sympathy, but her eyes conveyed none of it. Zagreus wanted to scream—she was the _last_ person he wanted to talk about Achilles being mad at him with.

“If I say yes, will you start attacking me any faster?” He asked, genuinely curious, and she seemed to genuinely consider it.

“It ain’t my thing to attack a crying _kid_ ,” she finally answered sincerely (as sincere a jab like that could be, though Zag supposes she’s right, seeing as how she was supposedly born of Titan’s blood as Meg and Tisiphone had been), brandishing her whip, though without intent to crack it.

“Besides that, do you realize how _disrespectful_ it is, to come up to an enemy _crying_?” She continued on, sounding disgusted. “It makes me blood _boil_ , red-blood, and not in the way I like!”

She turned away from him, a hand to her nose as if he smelled bad (which he _didn’t_ , godsdammit, he had bathed!), and threw a sufficiently sized gemstone at him before waving towards the now unlocked exit.

“Get the hell out of here, red-blood, before I change my damn mind! It’s sick, yanno, that I’m showing mercy, but I damn _hate_ criers!”

“You-You’re really just…” Zagreus sputtered in confusion; a stray tear he hadn’t realized he was holding in fell from his right eye from the sudden change of emotion. Alecto had turned just at that moment to look at him again, and she growled as she watched it roll down.

“ _Damn_ , you’re thick-headed! What the hell’s the matter with you?!”

“I don’t think an Erinys who’s charged with _torturing_ the dead as a job gets to ask that!”

“Pah! There’s worse than me out there and you know it! That’s not what I was asking, anyway, don’t play stupid with me!”

Zagreus ground his teeth together, a tad unsure of how to respond to that. This wasn’t what he had expected out of the Erinys, and he was about damn pissed with how his expectations were falling flat today; first Achilles grew unexpectedly but understandably angry with him, and now Alecto was unexpectedly and confusingly worried about him? Zagreus was almost afraid that, if he returned to the House right now, he’d find his Mother, the Queen Persephone, standing next to his father!

“It’s none of your business.” He tried, finally deciding on a response, and Alecto only bared her fangs once more.

“I’m warning you just this one time, red-blood; don’t _ever_ take my mercy lightly.” She hissed lowly, her grip on her whip tightening. A part of Zagreus was shocked to learn that somebody crying near her seemed to incur the mercy of fearsome Alecto; had that always been the case? Was that why she hated them? “You’re a smart little boy, despite always making your rash decisions, so I’ll give ya one last chance—

“What the _hell_ is your problem?”

In no time at all once her question was asked, Zagreus felt as if something within his chest broke, and in a rash second of deciding that showing vulnerability to Alecto didn’t matter right now, a sob broke through him, causing him to shudder so harshly his weapon clattered to the ground. He didn’t care; instead, he took his head within his hands and fell to his knees, sobs now bursting from him in a way he couldn’t have stopped if he tried. He didn’t hear her approach, but Alecto’s hand was suddenly on his left arm, pulling it away from where he had been gripping his hair tightly and about to pull. An action he hadn’t done since he was small, but warranted in him wanting to be punished in some way for upsetting Achilles. For upsetting _anyone_ , really.

He wondered if she had pulled his hand away out of knowing this (perhaps from Meg, who had most likely told it as an embarrassing story, since that seemed to be the only thing to bring them together), or if she had simply done it to commit his crying face to memory (to, again, relay as an embarrassing story to her sisters later).

“Geez, red-blood, hasn’t anyone ever told you to never fall to your knees in front of an enemy?” She asked teasingly, though her expression was carefully guarded, as if she were trying to decide on what emotion to let shine through. “What’s gotten into you? I’d guess this isn’t even about Megaera; you’d be crying _less_ if this were her doing.”

Zagreus made no attempt to either confirm or deny that claim, but he hesitated only because he could not _speak_ for several minutes. In falling to his knees, it felt as if darkness itself had burrowed into his chest, creating such a hollow hole that he felt as if his lungs were collapsing. He nearly gasped as he cried, not caring much that Alecto was increasingly looking both worried and unsettled, and didn’t bother to answer her until, finally, she asked another question.

“Sh-Should I be calling someone?” She asked, assumedly to herself for the most part, her voice shaking. “I wasn’t warned about _this_ , red-blood, so forgive me for not knowing what to do. I do the _torture_ , not the _comfort_.”

“ _No!_ No, no, it’s—” Zag coughed, shaking his head a bit too wildly. He heaved a breath, running his arm across his eyes. His right hand gripped his hair, his whole left arm still in Alecto’s grip, but it didn’t pull. He remembered the care Achilles had extended to him in attempt to stop the habit after he had become his mentor, and he didn’t want this _one_ thing to go to waste.

“It’s—It’s nothing that warrants anyone—anyone _else_ being involved. It’s just—”

Zagreus stumbled on his words, another sob wracking his body. Alecto scowled further, though she waited for him to continue on patiently, for once.

“I just, I think I’ve completely damaged the relationship I have with my father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hell yea i wrote Alecto ooc as shit just to avoid writing a full fight scene sue me abt it  
> also woohoo cliff hanger :D
> 
> Uhhhhh i dont got nothin else to say in addition tho. I'm tired :1
> 
> But, as always, YAY, the end !! :D !!! Pls leave a like and comment if ya enjoyed; you should always leave smth to let ur fave creators know that ur consuming the things they put out !!! It ensures we keep on creatin, and gives us courage to do so !!


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